


The eye of the storm

by TheGreatLibraryFangirl (Mazeem)



Series: Kink and Bone [9]
Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Catharsis, Dario is a Good Boy, Dominant Masochism, Domme Khalila, Excessive Description of Menstruation, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Menstrual Sex, Menstruation, Oral Sex, Period Sex, sub Dario
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:53:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22436689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazeem/pseuds/TheGreatLibraryFangirl
Summary: Khalila seeks relief from her miserable menstruation in the ministrations of Dario's talented tongue.There is no tenderness in this attention; that's not what she needs.[Domme Khalila, as per usual for me]
Relationships: Dario Santiago/Khalila Seif
Series: Kink and Bone [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1444414
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	The eye of the storm

**Author's Note:**

> Khalila hates periods and so do I, the end. 
> 
> Not for reading if you don't like reasonably elliptical mentions of bodily fluids.

When Khalila wakes two hours after she frantically sought the solace of drugged sleep, the pain of her menstruation cramps has dulled to almost nothing.

She sighs in relief, and dares to stretch out a little from her tightly curled position. The thick towels underneath her are scratchy and hot on her bare skin, but they are a much better idea than unnecessary stress over the state of the bedclothes and her underwear.

“Feeling better?” Dario murmurs in her ear.

“Mm.”

His fingers uncurl a little stiffly from the fist pressed into her lower abdomen, and he rubs the skin there. His fingers gently brush the top of her pubic hair. She almost lets herself enjoy the petting, before she winces at the thought of what her entire vulva must look and feel like after a whole day of bleeding into not-quite-absorbent-enough cloths.

Winces again at the memory of how sharp she had been with him earlier, during her single-minded quest for sleep and pain relief.

“I’m sorry I was so rude,” she mumbles, and tries to sit up. He … well, he doesn’t hold her down, he’d never dare, but he’s slow enough in letting go that it’s easier for her to settle back down again. She could go back to sleep again easily, cuddled up against his warm body.

“But you didn’t even swear at me in Arabic this time,” Dario leans in to nuzzle her cheek. “I was denied valuable informal language lessons.”

She sighs, unmoved by his attempt at humour. “I need to shower.” Moving her legs has revealed that everything between her legs is sodden and sticky and she feels foul enough to cry. Again.

“Mm.”

His special ‘disagreeing without saying anything’ sound. Very well-behaved. Very irritating. Like everything else in the world, right now. 

“What?” she snaps. In response, he slides his hand lower. She parts her legs, even as she grumbles, “Don’t do that, I’m disgusting.”

“You know I don’t mind.”

His hand does feel nice. There’s no doubting that.

“Why don’t I get a washcloth and clean you up enough for an orgasm?”

“Hmm.” She buries her face in his shoulder. While she’s cramping she’d rather stab someone than have them paw at her, but during a lull like this … well, it might be a nice distraction. “Fine.”

He kisses the side of her head and gets up.

She can’t help but watch him go. His pert rear is one of her weaknesses. Hm. Maybe this will work.

He climbs back into bed and settles next to her. She gets a nice moment to admire the focus in his dark eyes, but then she gasps and flings her head back as he presses a hot, wet cloth to her vulva. It's very hot, almost unbearably so, and the initial shock of it wakes her whole vulva up like a slap, sets her nerves tingling.

That effect fades quickly, because Dario knows what he's doing and hasn't actually burnt her, but then he gently rubs the cloth over her clitoris and she squirms with delight at the friction.

"That's good."

"Do you want this instead of my mouth?" Dario asks. There's absolutely no ego in the question at all, and she adores him for that when his mouth is one of the few ways he is allowed to make her come.

It's a tempting offer, but that's not the point of the cloth and she does like to stick to the plan. So she shakes her head - and shifts her hips up, too, because she can't quite help it - and reaches down to fumble her fingers through his lovely curls.

"If I want something else, I'll tell you, won't I?" Her grin softens her stern words, and his lips quirk in response. He murmurs, "Yes, my lady," and sets about wiping her clean in earnest.

She tries not to concentrate too much on what he's doing down there. It's not that she's squeamish. It's her body, after all, and she cleaned the caked blood off herself for an awfully long time before Dario elbowed his way into her life. Still, if she concentrates enough to know that he's patiently, painlessly working a dried clot out of her pubic hair, it does somewhat dull her arousal.

"Distract me," she orders. He blows on her, a little above where he's still wiping. The whole area is still damp, and the stream of cool air makes her shiver. He then puts one hand on her mound and gently pulls upwards, ensuring that the next breath hits her uncovered clitoris.

The sensation isn't as extreme as the hot cloth had been, and she's able to breathe through it without more than a rock of her head on the pillow.

"Mm. Good. Thank you, darling." Feedback for Dario. He likes feedback. Likes being told he’s doing well.

He makes an acknowledging sound and kisses her inner thigh. His lips are soft and his goatee slightly ticklish, and she's hit by a wave of desire for his tongue that is so strong she pushes her hips up towards him.

He raises his beautiful eyes to hers, head tilted in silent question. His tongue comes out to lick his lips, and it looks so natural and appealing that she doesn't care if he's acting.

All of a sudden, she loses patience with herself. Now is not the time to tease Dario or to edge herself. She has so little pleasure on these days that she needs to grab any cramp-free opportunity.

"Are you finished?" she asks. At his immediate nod, she puts on a frown. "To your standards, darling, or to mine?"

He grins. "Somewhere inbetween, my lady. Closer to yours than to mine, I promise, particularly if I stay at the front here." He cups her whole vulva and squeezes it gently, and her need to check only just overcomes her desire for more of that. She bats his hand away and presses her fingers around perfunctorily.

It would do. It would have to do. Dario wouldn't care, anyway. She puts her damp fingers against Dario's lips, and he eagerly bathes them with his tongue. Torture for both of them.

"Work hard for me, darling," she requests, and takes big handfuls of the bedsheets either side.

His pupils dilate and he gives her a delightfully wicked grin. "Of course, my lady." Then that silver tongue of his descends to perform much more important tasks than speaking.

The first touch of his mouth is almost like that cloth again, his inner heat searing against her damp, air-cooled flesh. She clamps her thighs together around him and lets out a loud gasp.

As she indirectly requested, he's come in fierce and fast, his silken tongue worrying at her clitoral hood from all angles. After a minute or so of that, any tiny, fleeting contact with her bare clitoris has her hips jerking forwards.

“More,” she says through gritted teeth, and groans out loud as he flattens the hood down and dives in to suck her directly.

Normally, she wouldn’t be anywhere near ready for that level of stimulation so quickly. She’s not entirely certain that she’s ready now. It’s almost painful.

But she’s grumpy and miserable and needs that hit of oxytocin _right now_ , and the constant rub of absorbent cloth against her delicate parts during menstruation somehow both sensitises them and desensitises them to this sort of treatment.

So she squeezes all her lower muscles and holds her breath to drive the spikes of pleasure higher and faster.

It makes her pant, like some sort of silly, desperate animal – like Dario after she’s edged him for a while.

Oops. Not kind comparisons, side by side.

His desperation is so pretty, though. It’s so satisfying to watch him fall apart purely because she asks him to. To restrain his hands through nothing more than obedience.

Thinking about that arouses her mentally at last, rather than merely physically. He’s such a good boy, her husband, her darling Dario.

She doesn’t feel pretty in her desperation– she feels bloated and fragile, ugly and bloody. She is beholden to nothing more than her own body, as it leaks its innards entirely against her wishes.

Pleasure wells up, hot and urgent, but it doesn’t spill over. A muscle right in the crease of her thigh twitches helplessly with every pass of his tongue over his clitoris. She’s out of breath; she’s hot; she’s _impatient_.

Dario’s hands have been largely still up until now, just shifting her hips occasionally to allow himself a fraction of breathing space, or stroking her inner thighs and lips to bring up more lubrication. Though not too much of that, not for this, the sticky half-lubricated sting is half the aim.

He’s very good with his hands.

But she doesn’t want to be worshipped today. Not like that, anyway, with his soft adoring touch.

The crawling drip of another clot exiting her makes up her mind. There is the blood, the bodily offerings.

_Worship me like a war goddess, my beloved, with blood and pain and invasion_.

“Fuck me,” she snaps.

As if he’s been waiting for that command, he slides one finger straight into her.

One is all she needs, one is still an alien girth inside her, making her clamp down on it so hard that she can feel him fight to keep it inside.

Even if she wanted more, she’d be out of luck, the skin there is so tight that she would tear and no amount of arousal can dampen the pain when they’ve tried in the past.

Five years of marriage and they’re technically not ‘consummated’ and they never will be, because she won’t put herself through pain if she doesn’t think the outcome is worth it.

To her hormone-rampaged mind, this tiny penetration feels like revenge, forcing pleasure from a place that causes her so much pain and inconvenience and will do so _every single month_ of her _life_ until she is older than her own _mother_ –

“ _Harder_.”

He curls his finger even harder; she imagines feverishly that she is lifted up by the force.

But even that isn’t quite enough. Another wave of burning pleasure sputters just before it crests, and she lets out a shriek of frustration. Her clitoris is starting to go numb under his assault, and that makes orgasm less likely with every passing second – there is a _window_ and it’s _closing_ , and – and is that a cramp she can feel building? She lets out a sob at the thought.

Dario taps her hip and her eyes are on him instantly despite the red blur of her thoughts – in their usual sexual activity that’s a request for a pause. Is she suffocating him?

No, his mouth’s still tortuously busy. He meets her eyes, and then raises his eyebrows questioningly.

Raises his lips back over his teeth.

“Yes!” She tries to arch her back, to fling herself at him, but he must have read her answer in her eyes because even as she speaks, he’s moving to pin her hips down.

Then his teeth descend on her clitoris.

“Good boy,” she babbles, giving Dario’s hair a perfunctory squeeze as she lies back on her elbows again. “That’s it. That’s _it_.”

It’s not quite biting, but it’s very close; his wonderful tongue forces her clitoris up against his teeth. The flat of the tooth to grind, the edge to send another spark racing up the worn nerves. Sucking between teeth close enough to scrape. Treatment more brutal than she could ever take normally.

_Finally_ , the spark catches, and the wave comes, and she gasps and convulses as if she really has just been half-drowned.

He _does_ bite, then, and she can barely even feel it except for the renewed wave that it sends pulsing to her toes, to her dizzy head.

Finally, finally, finally.

Time fuzzes a little as the overwhelming sensation recedes. Dario appears next to her and puts his arms around her. She snuggles into them with a sigh. Once her breathing has calmed enough, she tilts her head up for a kiss and he obediently dips his to meet her. A little metallic taste is a small price to pay for the soothing softness of his mouth.

(Still, she keeps her eyes shut.)

“I love you,” she mumbles at last.

“I love you,” he replies back. He chuckles. “I can’t believe you thought I was tapping out. Can’t believe you even noticed.”

She spends a little longer than normal figuring out what he’s talking about. Everything is even more blurred now than it was when it was actually happening.

“Didn’t want to suffocate you,” she mumbled back. She blinks and looks up at his smile. Reaches up to touch his abused-looking lips. He licks her fingers. “Can’t lose that mouth of yours.”

“It _is_ one of my redeeming features.”

She giggles a little hysterically. “It’s redeemed. You’re redeemed. You have redemption to spare. Oh, my word.”

“I’ll remind you of that.” His tone is arch but his expression is delighted by her wobbly, ill-focused praise.

“Let my tongue do the work now, darling,” she teases, and pulls him in for another kiss.

After a few more warm snuggling moments, he presses his hand between her legs. She lets him delve, but that faint cramp from before starts a tiny constriction inside her and she writhes uncomfortably.

He misunderstands; “Do you want another? You’re sopping wet, now. I could make it last.”

She shakes her head. “Is it painkiller time yet?” Her voice curls upwards in a plea she can’t quite stop. It’s not the current pain that unbalances her. That’s minor. It’s the thought of what’s waiting to return.

“Still another hour. Would you like another hot water bottle, my lady?”

Careful words, respectful title. He’s still trying to distract her. Well, she can work with that.

“Yes, please. Another hot water bottle. Then …” She twists her body so that she can rub up against him properly. “Then I’m going to lie here all curled up and as comfortable we can expect and watch you stroke yourself until it’s time for another painkiller.”

That’s a whole hour he needs to last, or just under by the time he’s got the hot water bottle ready.

“A reward for you being so wonderful.”

His dark eyes look so beautiful with that particular combination of dread and arousal.

“Thank you, my lady.”


End file.
